Thursday, March 17, 2016

A Book of the Seasons: March 17.



March 17.


No one is alert
enough to be present at
the first dawn of spring,
March 17, 1857


Whistling overhead
now lost in the horizon --
large flock of sheldrakes.
March 17, 1860


after the darkness
that moment in the dawn when
we see things truly.
March 17, 1852

Maple blossom buds
show a rusty, fusty space.
Look as if bursting.
March 17, 1855

Flying with great force
swift propellers of the air
whistling overhead.
March 17, 1860

Whistling overhead
swift propellers of the air
flying with great force.
March 17, 1860

Now here overhead
now lost in the horizon:
large flock of sheldrakes.
March 17, 1860


March 17, 2019





A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality.”
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2016

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